


Octomon: Titanic Tentacles of Terror!

by genkisakka



Category: Saiyuki Ibun
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genkisakka/pseuds/genkisakka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamayuki Houmei is in need of a monster for his directorial debut. He thinks bunraku artisan Takahashi Toudai is the man for the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Octomon: Titanic Tentacles of Terror!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samsarapine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samsarapine/gifts).



> Written as part of the 2012 7thnight_smut exchange on Dreamwidth for samsarapine, who requested Toudai/Houmei in a 1950s Tokyo monster movie industry setting.

_~*~Tokyo, summer 1956~*~_

Toudai was being watched.

This in itself wasn't unusual, since he normally contributed the enormous, eye-catching oni and kami puppets for the Takahashi troupe's bunraku performances. The audience often gasped at his fantastic creature's entrance, emitted little squeals and shouts as he led the puppet through its more dramatic movements, and clapped loudly when the character swooped offstage.

But the audience's regard was for his creations, not for Toudai himself - a relief, given that his unusual height and strength made it impossible for him to disappear into a crowd under everyday circumstances. In the world of bunraku, however, Toudai was invisible to the audience, as all the best masters should be. 

This was the first time in all his years as a performer that he could feel someone watching _him_. It raised prickles of gooseflesh along Toudai's arms and tingles up his scalp, and he had to take a few deep breaths to steady his nerves before executing his water dragon's double roll and final dive below the sea. He'd been practicing the movement for months, but he still felt a drop of fear chill the pit of his stomach right before he twisted and pulled the complicated cords and wires that manipulated the joints of the beautiful beast he had crafted. Would this be the one time when something snapped or snagged, freezing his dragon in midair or sending it hurtling into one of the other puppets?

The performance was flawless and the dragon slid almost soundlessly to a stop in a trough between the paper waves lining the stage. The children in the audience clapped and stomped and shrieked with delight, and Toudai backed into the shadows, carefully disengaging himself from the customized articulation apparatus he'd painstakingly assembled for the dragon. It was his own design and the envy of his fellow masters.

He moved further backstage so he could stretch and roll his neck, arms, and shoulders without disturbing the end of the play. As soon as the final chords of the shamisen faded and the stage hands had pulled the waves out of the way, Toudai stepped onstage, scooped up his dragon, and bowed with the rest of his troupe. He smiled down at the children jostling each other for space at the stage's edge, throwing copper sen pieces and American pennies and shouting questions up at the performers.

“Mister! Hey, mister… is that samurai's sword made of real steel?”

“Are those puppets heavy? They look heavy!”

“Hey, how did you get that dragon to fly? I didn't see any wires! Was it magic?”

Toudai crouched and held the dragon out to the smudged-faced little boy who'd yelled the question. “No magic, I'm afraid,” he said with a wink. “See, he has a lot of joints that let him bend this way and that, and I use this special harness to make him move.”

The small, thin girl wedged in next to the boy stared wide-eyed at Toudai's puppet. “He's so pretty,” she sighed. “You really made him all by yourself?”

“I did.”

“Can I pet him?”

“It's not alive, stupid,” the boy scoffed. He yelped at a well-placed elbow jab from the girl.

“Shut up, idiot,” she hissed. “Can I, mister?”

“Of course. Just be gentle,” he said. She ran her hand with a sort of reverence along the dragon's brightly painted scales, bringing it to rest on top of his head. She scratched the spot right between his gleaming black eyes, and Toudai moved his arms so that the dragon's head bobbed with approval. The children laughed.

“My cat likes that spot too,” the girl giggled.

“Cats and dragons are a lot alike,” Toudai said, to more laughter. He stood up slowly so as not to jostle the dragon too much.

“All right, I have to help clean up,” he told the crowd. “We'll be back tomorrow, if you would like to see us again.”

“See you later, mister,” the kids called over their shoulders. They scampered off in clumps of two and three, and Toudai saw the boy take the girl's hand as they ran barefoot down a side street toward the river. He guessed they were siblings, possibly orphaned and living in one of the makeshift slums that lined the banks of the Sumida. He hoped they hadn't thrown any coins onto the stage - they could ill-afford to waste money on puppet shows.

Toudai had just finished putting his dragon in its cloth-padded box when he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He was being watched again. He turned and said, a bit more sharply than he intended -

“Can I help you?”

The man standing behind Toudai took a step backward in surprise. He was reed-slender and pale as milk, with fine, light brown hair caught up in a haphazard top-knot. A good number of strands had escaped the hair tie to fall over his face and into his eyes, which were a russet-tinted brown and unusually round.

So, only half-Japanese, Toudai thought. Maybe an American soldier on leave from Yokosuka, playing summer tourist in yukata and geta. He frowned at the notion.

The man cocked his head and stared directly into Toudai's eyes for a few silent moments. The gaze made Toudai feel unsettled, as if his internal organs had suddenly started itching and he couldn't get at them to scratch. Before Toudai could embarrass himself by fidgeting, the man smiled broadly, clapped his hands twice, and cried -

“I've finally found you, Octomon!”

Toudai's jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” he said.

“You are definitely the one,” the man declared, hopping from one foot to the other and grinning like a simple-minded fool. “Everyone will be so relieved!” He stopped mid-hop, one leg crooked forward like a stork's. “Wait, what time is it?”

A million questions were fighting for space in Toudai's brain, but he chose to answer the one in front of him. “4:30,” he said, holding up his watch for emphasis.

“Oh no, I'm late again! Ganpuku will eat my share if I don't hurry!” He leaned up and kissed Toudai on the cheek. “I'll be back tomorrow, my magnificent monster. It's a promise!”

The man flashed another wide smile, then spun around and clopped away at an impressive speed. Toudai stared after him until he'd turned the corner, rubbing his cheek and trying to work out what exactly had just happened. He was still at a loss when Seiran tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Takahashi-sensei, do you want me to start packing up the harness?”

Toudai shook his head to snap himself out of the dreamlike state the odd encounter had left him in. “Sorry. Let's do it together,” he told his apprentice.

~*~*~

Word had apparently gotten around about the outdoor bunraku exhibition. By the next afternoon, the crowd around the stage outside Sensoji in Asakusa had more than doubled in size. It was the seventh of July, so instead of repeating the Enoshima play from the day before, the troupe had decided to perform the tale of Orihime and Tengyuu in honor of the Tanabata festival. Toudai smoothed the feathers of his magpie-puppet and hoped the children who had attended yesterday wouldn't be too disappointed by his dragon's absence.

His worries were unfounded. The audience was every bit as entranced by the magpie's antics and the bridge built by feather-cloaked acrobats as they'd been by yesterday's dancing dragon. This time, Toudai remained onstage until the end and was able to press a handful of 10-yen notes into the hands of the siblings he'd spoken with the previous afternoon. The girl teared up a little as she thanked Toudai, while the boy tucked the money into one of his threadbare sleeves with a stiff nod. Toudai figured the boy was playing tough for his sister's benefit, so he squashed the impulse to smile and gravely returned the boy's gesture.

After visiting with the kids again, he stood up and scanned the dispersing crowd to see whether the oddball from yesterday had returned as promised. Toudai hadn't felt the sensation of being scrutinized during the performance, and he hadn't spied any light-brown topknots in the audience, so he was assuming the guy had followed some new flight of fancy elsewhere. He felt strangely disappointed.

He began heading backstage to help pack up, but a tug on the hem of his jacket gave him pause. Assuming it was one of the kids, he turned around with a smile.

“Did you have another question?” he asked the youth holding on to his garment. He had large, dark eyes and a bald head as round as a muskmelon. 

“Are you the monster?” the boy asked him. On second glance, Toudai determined he was not a boy, but a very short man, and that he wasn't completely bald, but had one thin braid extending from the crown of his head.

Toudai's smile dimmed a bit at being called monster for the second time in two days. “If by 'monster' you mean 'magpie,' then yes,” he replied.

The short man bowed. “Forgive my rudeness,” he said. “My name is Ishigawa Gen. I believe you met my colleague yesterday?”

Ah, this Gen was related to the weirdo from yesterday. Now the 'monster' comment made sense. Toudai bowed in return. “I am Takahashi Toudai,” he said. “Did you enjoy the show, Ishigawa-san?”

“Very much so,” Gen replied. “Your puppetry was incredible. Did you invent that articulation harness yourself? I've never seen its like.”

“It is my own design,” Toudai said, unable to keep a note of pride from slipping into his voice. “Have you studied bunraku as well?”

Gen blushed. “Ah, not exactly,” he said, tugging nervously on his braid. “I'm a special effects artist for Doubu Studios.” He shook his head ruefully at Toudai's blank expression. “I'm so sorry -- I see my colleague failed to introduce himself properly yesterday,” he said with another bow. “He tends to forget social customs when he's absorbed in a project.”

“He did seem a bit… distracted.” Toudai had been about to say 'strange,' but thought better of it. “He sent you here in his place, did he?”

“Oh no, he's around here somewhere -- I think I heard him say something about getting a snack. He should be back shortly.” Gen glanced over at Seiran, who was carefully detaching the harness from the magpie. Toudai noted the admiring gleam in Gen's eyes and said -

“Would you like a closer look?”

“Oh yes! But only if it's not too much trouble,” Gen added in a rush.

Toudai assured him it was no bother and spent a very pleasant half-hour demonstrating the various capabilities of the harness, then another quarter-hour watching Gen help Seiran break the harness down for storage. The young man was a quick study, Toudai thought, wondering again what purpose lay behind the visits from Gen and his bizarre colleague. He was about to ask exactly that when a familiar voice called -

“Gen-chan, there you are!”

The oddball from the day before skipped up to them, clutching a few sticks of dango, one of which was half-eaten. He was closely followed by a scowling dark-haired man wearing Western clothes and carrying a black leather briefcase.

“How wonderful, Gen-chan… you found our Octomon!” The oddball waved the dango at Toudai. “Would you like one? They're quite delicious!”

“Houmei, enough with the food already,” snapped his companion. He gave Toudai a narrow-eyed once-over. “I suppose you'll do,” he said. “I assume he hasn't explained a thing to you, has he?”

“He didn't even introduce himself properly,” Gen said, tapping the one called Houmei lightly on the arm. “Hou-san, must you be so rude?”

Houmei bowed deeply to Toudai. “Yamayuki Houmei asks your most humble forgiveness, most honored Octomon,” he said. “Do you have a name by which you go while on land?”

Once again, Toudai was at a loss to do anything but answer the man's question. “Um… I'm Takahashi Toudai,” he replied.

“Forgive my dimwitted director,” the businessman said, punctuating his words with a sharp smack to the back of Houmei's head. He ignored Houmei's protesting yelp, extracted a business card from his pocket and handed it to Toudai with a polite bow. It identified the man as Kobayashi Jouan, Associate Producer at Doubu Studios.

“Chou-chan, you knocked it loose!” Houmei patted his messy topknot, which Toudai noticed was now impaled with a hair stick adorned with a yellow silk flower and ribbons. Houmei caught his glance and tilted his chin a bit higher.

“I see you're admiring my newest accessory,” Houmei said. “Isn't it cheerful?”

Toudai cleared his throat. “You do know that's what women wear,” he said.

“Of course he does!” Jouan grumbled. “He just likes to make a spectacle.”

“Don't be jealous, Chou-chan.” Houmei held out an ornament identical to his own, except in purple. “See, I bought one for you, too!”

“As if I'd ever wear something so ludicrous!” Jouan sputtered.

Houmei's lower lip wobbled. “Chou-chan doesn't want my present,” he pouted.

Jouan snatched the polished ebony stick out of Houmei's hand. “I didn't say that,” he growled. “Since you already wasted money on it, we may as well use it. Turn around, Gen.”

Gen obediently presented the back of his head to Jouan, who then wove the ornament into Gen's braid, making sure the pointy end was safely tucked away. “There. It suits you better,” Jouan said gruffly. 

“It does! Gen-chan, you look adorable!” Houmei enthused.

“Thank you, Kobayashi-san,” Gen said to Jouan, who nodded stiffly. Toudai could tell that Jouan was struggling not to smile.

“All right, enough playing around,” the producer said. “Takahashi-san, allow me to buy you dinner to make up for my colleague's lack of manners. We can discuss our offer then.”

“Offer?” Toudai parroted. He was starting to wonder if this was some elaborate practical joke his troupe mates were playing on him.

Houmei clapped his hands and beamed up at Toudai. “To be the star of my upcoming film, silly!” He struck a dramatic pose and intoned in a deep voice:

“OCTOMON: Titanic Tentacles of TERROR!”

~*~*~

Over dinner of broiled eel on rice, Jouan gave Toudai a brief history of Doubu Studios. Jouan's family had founded one of the largest and most famous movie studios in Japan, and he had gone to work for them as soon as the war ended. The surprising success of Godzilla had the industry clamoring for more monster movies, and Jouan had seized the opportunity to strike out on his own by forming a separate studio dedicated to producing monster films. Jouan had immediately requested Houmei to direct Doubu's first feature, having met Houmei while he was serving as assistant director to pioneering monster moviemaker Hayuata Jikaku. Jikaku had sung the praises of his protégé as the perfect choice to helm Doubu's debut.

“I know he seems like a complete airhead,” Jouan said, glowering at Houmei, who had taken the ornament out of his hair and was trying to spin the flower like a pinwheel, much to Gen's amusement. “But Jikaku swears Houmei is a creative genius, so I put up with his eccentricities. If this movie brings in even half as much money as Godzilla, it'll be well worth it.”

“Ah, so Octomon is the monster in your monster movie.” Toudai took another sip from his glass. He wasn't much of a drinker, but the evening was warm and sticky, and the cold beer refreshing.

“Oh, poor Octomon is no monster,” Houmei said, flinging his hands wide and wiggling his fingers. “He is a tragic victim of scientific exploitation! He was just a poor little octopus, living his life in the depths of the sea, when someone tossed a few barrels of nuclear waste into his home and changed everything for him.” He pounded the table, shouting -

“Octomon wants only to live!”

“Shh! Idiot! You're making a scene!” Jouan looked around, but no one appeared to be paying much attention to them. The hostess came up to them and calmly asked them if they wanted more beer.

“None for me,” Toudai said. He started to rise. “Thank you for dinner, but I should be getting back to the inn. We have two performances tomorrow and I want to be well-rested.”

“Wait!” Houmei grabbed Toudai's sleeve. “You haven't given us an answer yet.”

Toudai was beginning to understand Jouan's perpetual exasperation. “That's because you haven't asked me anything!” he huffed, extracting his sleeve from Houmei's grip.

“Sorry -- I was getting to that,” Jouan said. “We've actually built the Octomon, but we don't have anyone capable of operating it. Your size and your experience working with puppets make you an ideal candidate, if you're willing.”

“I'm supposed to return to Kyoto after tomorrow's performances,” Toudai said, thinking of his ailing mother, whom he'd left in the care of a neighbor while he was away.

Houmei took Toudai's hand, squeezing it gently. His palm felt petal-smooth against Toudai's own rough, callused flesh. Toudai swallowed against the ball of warmth building in his chest.

“The filming will only take a few weeks,” Houmei said. “And we would pay you as we would any other actor.”

“The pay isn't much,” Jouan added quickly. “But we'd also cover your living expenses while you're here, as well as your ticket back to Kyoto once you've finished.”

Toudai was silent for a moment. As an artisan, he tended to go long stretches between paying work, so even a small salary was nothing to turn down lightly. So he shrugged and said -

“Why not?”

Houmei's celebratory hug almost made up for Toudai's near-certainty that he would regret the decision.

~*~*~

Toudai almost quit ten minutes into his first day, when Houmei proudly presented him with the suit he was supposed to wear as Octomon. It was a six-foot-tall bulb of heavy black rubber with what appeared to be six pieces of fire hose attached to its base, and something like the metal blade of a shovel stuck into the bulb's center. Toudai supposed that was supposed to serve as some sort of beak. It was indeed a monstrosity.

Houmei took one look at Toudai's horrified expression and put his face in his hands. “You hate it,” he moaned.

Toudai tried for diplomacy. “Hate is a strong word,” he said.

Houmei peeked hopefully at Toudai from between his fingers. He looked so pathetic that Toudai grasped for a kind word to say about the horror before him. “It certainly is… large,” he offered. “But shouldn't it have eight arms?”

Houmei dropped his hands and glared at Toudai. “Ryuuzen! Ganpuku! Gen! All of you, get over here!” Houmei shouted.

Gen set down the battleship model he'd been tinkering with and trotted over. He was soon joined by a stern-looking gentleman with a shaved head and glasses, and a chubby young man with a round, cheerful face.

“Our new Octomon player says this Octomon is all wrong,” Houmei declared, folding his arms over his chest and scowling at his special effects team. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Bald-with-glasses returned Houmei's glare with interest. “You gave us three days and 20 yen to put this together. I'm not a magician,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose for emphasis.

“Houmei-han, you said this was only a prototype,” the chubby one chimed in. “We can always modify it -- right, Ryuuzen?”

“Given enough time and a bigger budget, perhaps,” Ryuuzen replied.

Houmei waved a hand dismissively. “We will spend as much as it takes to make my Octomon perfect,” he said.

“Chou-han might have something to say about that,” Ganpuku muttered. A sharp look from Houmei silenced him.

Gen looked nervously at Toudai. “It's no good, is it, Toudai-san?” he asked quietly.

Toudai took a few steps back and studied the pile of junk. If he squinted, it looked vaguely octopus-shaped. He mentally started taking it apart, turning over each component in his head. If they coated the hoses in the same rubber used to make the suit, and replaced that ridiculous shovel blade with a beak made from scrap sheet metal. Of course, there would be the matter of manipulating the tentacles…

“We can work with this,” he said. “Houmei-san, when were you planning to start filming?”

“Tomorrow?” Houmei said hopefully.

Ryuuzen groaned and facepalmed. Toudai was tempted to follow suit.

“Not possible, I'm afraid,” he told Houmei. “How about three days from now?”

“Oh, very well,” Houmei sighed. “I suppose I can use that time to work on the script.”

Toudai stared open-mouthed at Houmei. “Wait a minute! You haven't even _written_ the script yet?”

“Of course I have!” Houmei tapped his temple. “The story's all here - I just need to get it down on paper.” He gave Toudai a jaunty salute. “I leave this matter in your capable hands, Momo-chan!”  
After Houmei exited the workshop, Ryuuzen was the first to speak. “Momo-chan?” he said, pursing his lips.

“It's the first character in his name,” Gen explained.

“Ah, I see,” Ganpuku said with a grin. “You know, Toudai-han -- Houmei-han only gives nicknames to people he really admires.”

Toudai barely managed to fend off his first blush since his school days.

~*~*~

A day and a half into what Ganpuku had dubbed Project Octomon Rebirth, Toudai emerged from inside the monster's rubber body to find a bearded old man smoking a long-stemmed pipe.

“So you're to be the man behind Houmei-kun's monster,” the old man said, turning his head to exhale a long stream of smoke.

Toudai wiped his face with his sleeve. “I suppose so,” he replied. “I'm guessing you're his mentor?”

“Good guess,” the old man chuckled. “I'm Hayuata Jikaku.”

“Takahashi Toudai.”

“I just came by to check on my student's progress. It's his first solo feature and I wouldn't want him to shame me.” His eyes twinkled on that last phrase.

“He's hard at work on the script as we speak,” Toudai said. He wondered why he felt the need to defend Houmei when Jikaku was clearly joking.

In response, Jikaku took another inhale from his pipe and blew a few smoke rings. “That suit doesn't look half-bad,” he said. “The eyes are?”

“Painted glass,” Toudai said.

“The beak is a vast improvement over the shovel-head. Does it actually move?”

“Gen did the metal-work,” Toudai said proudly. “It opens and shuts, and can be manipulated from inside the suit.”

“Those tentacles still don't quite match the body. And you're missing two.”

“Ryuuzen and Ganpuku are coating them with a thin latex mixture that should match the body,” Toudai said. “If they turn out okay, we'll move on to the rest. We don't want to make them too heavy, since we're trying to make them moveable.”

Jikaku locked eyes with Toudai, who met the elderly director's gaze without flinching. The old man smirked.

“Houmei-kun chose well,” he said, patting Toudai's bicep. “Keep up the good work. Tell Houmei I'll stop by on Thursday. I don't want to miss his very first day as lead director.”

Toudai nodded. When Ryuuzen and Ganpuku came in with the first of the freshly coated tentacles, he informed them that they would be working through the next two nights in order to meet the three-day deadline.

“What else is new?” Ryuuzen grumbled.

~*~*~

Despite the frustrating lack of flexibility in the remodeled tentacles, Toudai was satisfied with the rebuilt Octomon to the point where he no longer felt mortified at the prospect of his name being attached to the production. He had to kneel to get inside the beast, the suit made him sweat buckets, and there was no way he could move its 250-pound bulk without assistance from a special cart designed by Gen. But his bunraku colleagues had no way of knowing any of those humiliating details.

Most gratifying of all had been Houmei's reaction. He'd clasped his hands together and gazed at Octomon with the rapture of a besotted lover.

“He's just as I imagined him,” he said after about a minute of circling and touching the suit reverently. “Momo-chan, you are a wonder!”

Toudai ran his fingers sheepishly through his long black hair. “I didn't do that much,” he said. “Octomon already existed before I got here, thanks to Ryuuzen and Ganpuku and Gen.”

“Yes, but 'existing' isn't the same as 'living,'” Houmei said. He reached up to cup Toudai's cheek. “You breathed life into my creation, my dear Momo-chan. How can I ever repay you?”

“Um,” said Toudai with a cough. He hoped no one noticed how flushed his face had become.

“We're already paying him,” Jouan interrupted. “And if you don't start shooting, you'll be paying him overtime!”

“We still have to work out the tentacle movements,” Toudai said before squeezing into the suit. “If we try to move them as they are now, they'll crack.”

“One thing at a time,” Houmei said airily. “Let's start with Octomon crossing Yokohama Harbor. Places, everyone!”

Toudai was surprised to discover that underneath his flighty, silly persona, Houmei was actually a competent director. He seemed to know just how far to push each actor, and when to offer encouragement and praise. Toudai still wasn't completely convinced that his Octomon would look anything other than ridiculous on film, but when Houmei invited him to watch footage from the day's shoot, he was shocked to see how well the monster made the transition thanks to the clever use of framing, angles, and wide shots.

“You're something of a magician yourself,” Toudai said as Houmei turned up the lights in the edit room. Houmei smiled in a way that made Toudai's toes curl.

“Tomorrow we'll be shooting in the wave tank,” he said, touching Toudai's hair. “You might want to wear a swimcap.”

~*~*~

Toudai had been prepared to spend all day being cold and wet and miserable, but fortunately the day began with him on dry land. Because Toudai couldn't lift Octomon on his own, the special effects team had to elevate the suit in stages, placing it on blocks of increasing height to simulate Octomon's rise from the depths. Toudai didn't need to get inside the suit until Octomon had almost completely emerged, at which point Houmei wanted him to snap his beak and shriek his pain and fury to the heavens. Toudai told Houmei he wasn't much of a shrieker, but Houmei assured Toudai the sound would be added later.

Toudai had not been able to find a swimcap that could cover his considerable mane, so he merely twisted it up into a sort of bun and pinned it in place. Houmei had Jouan provide Toudai with the largest wetsuit he could find; even so, Toudai had barely managed to squeeze into it. The wetsuit hugged his body like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. Toudai had to fight the urge to cover himself as he entered the wave-tank area. He heard someone whistle and gritted his teeth.

Thankfully, Houmei was all business. “We'll make this as quick as possible,” he said. “Places, everyone!”

Unfortunately, there were logistical difficulties. Toudai had trouble getting inside Octomon without knocking him from his platform, and every time he did, they had to stop shooting and reposition the monster. An hour later, after everyone was soaked to the bone, Toudai had finally managed to produce what he thought was a decent take when Houmei yelled, “Cut!”

“Are you kidding?” Ryuuzen sputtered. “That was perfect!”

Houmei glared daggers at Ryuuzen, who snapped his mouth shut. “Momo-chan, come over here,” he said, slapping the water in front of him. Toudai bit back his irritation and sloshed over to the edge of the tank.

Houmei regarded Toudai silently for a few seconds, then began to speak in the soothing cadence of someone reading a bedtime story to a child.

“You were once a normal octopus. You swam in the sea and ate crabs and clams and fish and slept and dreamed of coral. You had a sweet, lovely life. Then one day someone tossed horrible poisonous chemicals into your home. Your poor little body was covered in burning radioactive waste, and no matter how hard you swam, it wouldn't wash off. You thought you were dying, and you were glad, because at least then the pain would stop.

“But you didn't die. Your body started to change, to swell to immense proportions. You gained unbelievable strength. Your tentacles could squeeze an orca to death. Your beak could snap a shark in two. But the pain was still unbearable, every cell in your body screaming in never-ending agony.

“Now all you feel is pain from the terrible change inflicted on you and the loss of the beautiful life you had before someone threw this poison on you and robbed you of everything you were. You want to live, but you don't know how to live this new life, in this new body. You decide to start by making those responsible pay for what was done to you.”

Toudai realized the entire room had gone silent while Houmei spun the tale of Octomon. He took a deep breath.

“I understand,” he said. “Let me try again.”

Houmei smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “All right everyone, take your places!”

This time, when Houmei called action, Toudai snapped the beak so vigorously the rubber body shuddered, and he howled with anguish he hadn't felt since the day he read the letter his oldest brother had written hours before his kamikaze mission in the South Pacific. When Houmei called wrap, Toudai plunged his face into the tank to wash away his tears.

~*~*~

Toudai and Ryuuzen tried and discarded half a dozen ideas for the close-ups of Octomon's tentacles wreaking havoc on the Yokohama harbor before they settled on a combination of lacquered canvas filled with wooden beads and threaded with a multi-jointed wire chain. Gen suggested they attach thin cords to various joints along the wire so that they could make the tentacle move in multiple directions.

“You could maybe attach the cords to some sort of arm brace - something like the harness you use for your puppets,” Gen said, using a bit of charcoal from the cooking grill to sketch out a rough design on the floor of the cafeteria.

“That could work,” Toudai said. “Ganpuku, can you find me some leather straps? Even canvas would do.”

Ganpuku put down the pot he was drying. “I'll go see what scraps they have in the costuming department,” he said. “You need this right away?”

“Don't we always?” Toudai said wryly, prompting laughter from the effects crew.

“You've caught on quickly,” Ryuuzen said with grudging admiration. “I didn't know how you'd work out, being an artisan. Some of those guys have enormous egos.”

“It's hard to be too proud when you've had to go hungry for days on end because there are no jobs,” Toudai said. “I'll take paying work over starvation any day.”

The others murmured their assent. Jouan looked up from his paperwork and chuckled.

“That reminds me of how Houmei got his start at our parent studio,” he said. “Toudai, have you heard this story?” At Toudai's head shake, Jouan continued -

“A few years back, Houmei had just arrived in Tokyo and was looking for work when he heard that we were looking for extras for a crowd scene. The job was only a couple days long, but when Houmei discovered that we gave all the extras lunch, he just kept coming back every day for the free food. He went on like that for two months before anyone caught on. Once Jikaku heard about it, he marched over and ordered Houmei to start helping old Tsubasara-sensei build sets. Houmei picked up a hammer, and just like that, he was hired for real.”

Toudai smiled and shook his head. “That guy can charm the gold out of a person's teeth, can't he?” he said.

“I don't doubt it,” Ganpuku laughed.

The design for the tentacles worked so well that Houmei did a series of awkward pirouettes in his glee. “We should start with the destruction of the U.S.S. Hartman,” Houmei said, nodding to Gen.

As Gen placed the miniature battleship within reach of the tentacle, Toudai realized with a start that Houmei was talking about the incredibly detailed model that Gen had built from scratch. It had probably taken Gen weeks to construct, and Toudai was about to destroy it in a matter of seconds. The thought made him slightly nauseous.

“Are you sure?” he asked Gen. The younger man looked surprised by the question.

“Of course. This is what we do,” he said.

It took a few takes for Toudai to work up the courage to smash Gen's battleship to smithereens. Afterward, he apologized to Gen.

“It was a beautiful ship,” Toudai said. “I wanted it to last forever.”

Gen stared up at Toudai with dark, solemn eyes. “Nothing is permanent,” he said. “I learned that long ago.”

As Toudai sat down to remove the harness, Houmei sat beside him and reached over to help unbuckle the straps. “Gen survived Nagasaki,” Houmei said.

“I see,” Toudai replied. Neither man spoke again for some time.

~*~*~

The Octomon shoot ended up taking six weeks rather than three. Still, to Toudai, the time passed at an almost dizzying pace. When Houmei called wrap for the final time, Toudai felt a bittersweet mixture of relief and regret.

“To hell with rations -- let's celebrate in style!” Houmei cried. “Steak for everyone!”

“Have you lost your senses?” Jouan shouted over the cheers of the crew. “Who do you think is paying for all your steak?”

“But Chou-chan, we've worked so hard,” Houmei wheedled, throwing his arms around Jouan's neck and burying his face in his shoulder. “Surely we've earned at least one delicious meal!”

Toudai watched Jouan blush and sputter at Houmei's attentions. He remembered what Ganpuku said about Houmei only giving nicknames to the people he fancied most, and had to quell the sudden urge to punch the producer in his pretty-boy face.

“You win,” Jouan said, throwing up his hands in gesture of surrender. “Your movie had better make me a lot of money! Let's go to Ginza, they have the best steakhouse in town.”

Toudai had not had such a fine meal since before the war. They ate steak and drank red wine from France and followed it up with shochu so strong it made Toudai's eyes water. At some point during the raucous party Ryuuzen produced a guitar and led the group through a number of folk songs and some popular American tunes.

Toudai was turning his empty shochu glass upside-down to prevent the others from refilling it when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find himself nose to nose with Houmei, whose face was flushed with alcohol and whose grin was even sillier than usual.

“Mo-mo-chan,” he sing-songed. “I need some air. Will you take a walk with me?”

Toudai wasn't certain how well he could actually walk at the moment, but the thought of having Houmei to himself was enough to motivate him to try. Toudai managed to stagger to his feet without humiliating himself and Houmei offered his shoulder as support as they lurched out of the restaurant.

Outside, a fresh breeze was chasing off the humidity of the day and the sky was clear and deep as the sea. Toudai breathed deeply to ward off the wave of dizziness that threatened to send him sprawling to his knees.

Houmei took Toudai's hand. “Come on, I want to show you something,” he said, tugging Toudai after him. The moon was near its apex, giving just enough light for them to see their way. They wove their way down a side street and through an alley reeking of piss and garbage, then they made a sharp left and climbed a set of steep stone stairs to a small shrine at the top of a hill.

“Look,” Houmei said, motioning below them. Toudai gazed at the scattering of lights twinkling across the city spread before them.

“It's like the stars in reverse,” Toudai said. 

“Stars on Earth,” Houmei breathed. “How poetic.”

Toudai leaned down and touched Houmei's lips, tracing their soft contours with his fingertips. Houmei closed his lips over Toudai's fingers, kissing each tip with slow, sensual deliberation. Toudai felt all the blood rush from his brain to other, less contemplative organs.

“I've wanted you since I saw you on that stage, making the dragon dance,” Houmei said, mouth moving against Toudai's fingers. “My magnificent magician.”

“Houmei,” Toudai whispered, stroking his silken cheek.

They kissed for what seemed like hours in the shadow of the shrine's stone lantern, mapping the shape and taste and feel of each other's mouths and tongues in a dance not unlike that of Toudai's dragon puppet. It wasn't long before Houmei was making a game of removing Toudai's clothes, demanding a kiss as payment for each garment shed. Toudai was far more direct, untying the sash of Houmei's yukata and slipping it off in a few deft movements. Houmei spread the robe on the dusty ground and pulled Toudai down to lay next to him.

“So beautiful,” Toudai whispered, admiring the way Houmei's skin glowed in the frosted light of the moon.

“Touch me, Toudai,” Houmei said. The sound of his name on Houmei's lips was all the incentive Toudai needed to run his hands over that silver-pale flesh, petting and stroking and pinching in places that made Houmei squirm and sigh and beg for more.

“My turn,” Houmei said, rolling Toudai onto his back and using mouth and hands to explore every dip and swell and crease of Toudai's body. Houmei would pause every so often in his ministrations to blow a soft, warm breath over Toudai's navel, or lightly nip the sensitive skin along his hipbone. Toudai had never known such intense arousal was possible.

Just as Houmei was touching his tongue to the tip of Toudai's cock, they heard the loud, slurring voices of Ganpuku and Jouan calling their names. “Fuck,” Toudai gasped.

Houmei laughed softly, his cheek pressed against Toudai's erection. “Their timing needs work,” he said.

Toudai muttered a few more curses and ran his fingers through Houmei's hair. “Maybe they'll go in the opposite direction,” he mused.

Not even five seconds later, they heard the sound of laughter echoing in the alleyway, and the sound of someone - Ryuuzen, probably - shushing them.

“Dammit,” Toudai hissed. Houmei slid his body along Toudai's and gave him a quick kiss.

“We'd better get dressed before Ganpuku breaks his neck trying to climb those stairs,” Houmei said. He tried to rise, but Toudai put his arms around Houmei's waist and murmured -

“One more minute.” He pressed his groin to Houmei's and smirked at the full-throated groan Houmei emitted in response.

“So greedy,” Houmei admonished as Toudai reached down and palmed Houmei's length. Toudai pushed their erections together and they gasped as one.

“Shall we stop now?” Toudai breathed into Houmei's ear. He nibbled the earlobe, and Houmei wriggled and moaned --

“No… wait, yes! Aah… ohh, no… no stopping! But.. but what about poor Ganpuku and his broken neck?”

“Ryuuzen can handle it,” Toudai said as their thrusting gained speed and rhythm. Houmei sank his teeth into the base of Toudai's neck to muffle his cry of climax, and Toudai's own release followed moments later, turning his world bright-white and blissfully silent for a few precious seconds. When Toudai's senses returned, he heard Ganpuku catcalling and making kissing noises at the bottom of the stairs, and he felt Houmei's shoulders shaking in mirth.

“So much for my cunning plan to spirit you away for hours of passionate lovemaking,” Houmei chuckled. Toudai stroked Houmei's hair and laid a lingering kiss somewhere in the vicinity of his forehead.

“Next time,” Toudai vowed, surprising himself. They dressed swiftly, cleaning up as best they could with cups of water from the purification fountain. Toudai felt a little scandalized at the thought that they had just used a holy shrine for their erotic liaison, but Houmei laughed at his discomfort.

“We wouldn't be the first,” he said with a wink. “I don't think the kami would mind. Still, just in case…”

Houmei strode toward the altar, extracted a few coins from his purse and tossed them into the offering box. Toudai finished dressing and joined Houmei next to the altar, where they each clapped twice and bowed deeply.

“Thank you, spirits,” Houmei intoned. Toudai took Houmei's hand, saying his own silent prayer of thanks for whatever forces had swept him into Houmei's orbit.

The sound of Ganpuku's drunken giggle drifted up from below. “Dammit, Ganpuku, do you want to break your neck?” Ryuuzen hissed in exasperation.

“Oh, let Maru-chan be,” Jouan said loudly, setting off another round of inebriated tittering. So, Jouan has a nickname for Ganpuku, Toudai thought with a smirk. He hadn't thought the prissy producer had it in him.

Houmei kissed Toudai's cheek, much as he had on the day they'd first met. “Let's go rescue poor Ryuuzen from the drunks,” Houmei said.

The moon had waned, leaving them to carefully feel their way down the stairs. As they descended, Houmei said -

“Must you return to Kyoto tomorrow?”

“I'm afraid so,” Toudai said. “My mother is not well, and I am all she has. We lost my father and both my brothers to the war.”

“Oh, my poor Momo-chan.” Houmei squeezed Toudai's hand. “Thank the gods you were spared.”

“I wasn't drafted until the very end,” Toudai said, pushing away the stab of guilt that followed every time he said that aloud. “I was scheduled to report for duty three days after the surrender.”

“Good timing,” Houmei said. “They took me from the temple where I was an apprentice right after my 17th birthday. I was stationed at Kokura the day the bomb was dropped on Nagasaki.”

Toudai shuddered. “Kokura luck,” he said, running a thumb over the back of Houmei's hand.

“Indeed. I would have been right at the epicenter, had the Americans bombed the arsenal as planned.”

They descended in silence for a few moments. Judging by the way the noise had subsided, either Ryuuzen had strangled Ganpuku, or Ganpuku had passed out at the base of the stairs.

“You know, Jikaku-san is pressuring Jouan to hold a Hollywood-style premiere for Octomon next spring,” Houmei said. “Red carpet and tuxedos and everything.” Houmei paused to check his balance, then continued -

“It would be wonderful if you could be there. And bring your mother, if she's strong enough. I'm sure she would be very proud of her son's good work.”

Toudai smiled in the dark. “She would enjoy that,” he said.

_~*~Tokyo, spring 1957~*~_

It was one of those spring evenings so perfect it almost seemed scripted. The sakura were in full bloom, and an occasional puff of wind sent stray petals scattering in showers of pink. The theater was ablaze with glittering lights and popping flashbulbs, and the illuminated marquee announced the arrival of Octomon in all his titanic, terrifying glory.

Toudai watched Houmei emerge from a shiny black sedan, and offer a hand to help Jikaku out of the back seat. Toudai felt his heart stutter as he took in Houmei's stylishly arranged hair and jet-black tuxedo. Jouan's work, no doubt, Toudai thought with a brief grin.

Toudai adjusted his own bow-tie, silently ordered the butterflies to stop tickling his insides, and walked calmly down the sidewalk, sidestepping the barrier placed in front of the red carpet. A nearby guard started to approach Toudai, but Jikaku gestured the guard away and called -

“Why, Toudai-kun, you look quite dashing tonight!”

Houmei whirled around with a yelp of delight. “Momo-chan!” he cried, embracing Toudai and kissing him in the European fashion, a quick peck on each cheek. “I thought you were in Kyoto with your sick mother!”

Toudai flashed a sly smile. “I was two weeks ago when I sent the telegram,” he said.

“Oh, you wicked man!” Houmei gave Toudai a little shove, and Jikaku clapped Toudai on the back, which was as high up as he could reach.

“We know how much you love surprises,” Jikaku cackled. Houmei shot a mock-glare at his mentor.

“I should have known this was your corrupting influence,” he said. “But Toudai, how is your mother, really? Is it all right for you to be so far away from her?”

Toudai cleared his throat. “Well, I'm actually not so far away,” he said. “She's at a rehabilitation hospital in Yokohama. We've taken an apartment nearby, so she can travel back and forth easily.”

Toudai felt his heart pound as he watched Houmei's eyes light up with joyous understanding. “You've moved to Yokohama,” he said breathlessly.

“Yes.”

“Permanently.”

The crowd was building in size and intensity around them, so Toudai quelled the urge to embrace Houmei. “Well, as permanent as anything is in this life,” he said.

Jikaku slapped Toudai on the back again, hard enough to make Toudai cough a bit. The old man really was surprisingly strong, Toudai thought. “Toudai-kun starts work as a special effects designer for Doubu next week,” Jikaku announced. “Isn't that good news, Houmei-kun?”

Houmei clasped his hands in front of his chest. “It is,” he said, somehow conveying volumes of happiness with those two simple words. He placed himself between Toudai and Jikaku and linked arms with them.

“Let's go witness the birth of our creation,” Houmei said, and they strode down the red carpet together.

~*~the end~*~


End file.
